That Woman
by MirandaMinerva
Summary: How Sharon Raydor views Brenda Johnson; Season 5 #15, Dead Man's Hands


**Title: **That Woman  
**Fandom: **The Closer  
**Character:** Captain Sharon Raydor (aka '_That Woman_')  
**Summary:** CPT Sharon Raydor in Season 5, #15 – _Dead Man's Hands_ (mix of real scenes with my own add-ins)  
**Spoilers: **Season 5, # 15 and Season 6, # 2. I did use the appearances/references to Raydor in Season 5, # 3, 7, & 14 to help me 'capture' this intriguing character.  
**Disclaimer:** Ingredients were borrowed without malice and mixed to create the following concoction. Gratitude to _Sheknowsnofear_ for genius beta work. Last minute pinches of this & that occurred post-review, thus any flaws in the final dish are mine alone. _Bon appétit~_

**That Woman**

Captain Sharon Raydor had no delusions about her social status within the LAPD. Any officer working for Internal Affairs was automatically deemed a leper; the fact that she was also heading the specially created FID (Force Investigations Division) moved her into an elite status of people-to-avoid-at-all-costs. And, as she looked out her office window onto the work area of her division, she knew that the small group of underlings sitting at rejected desks and otherwise obsolete computers were equally unpopular.

FID had been, unsurprisingly, left in the old Parker Center at present while almost every other unit settled into roomy new quarters in the new LAPD headquarters. The official transition plan indicated that FID, Major Crimes (MCU), and the Art Theft Detail (ATD) would be the final three units to move.

Sharon knew that the ATD had delayed their move while new security systems were set up to protect their own property room within the LAPD's new structure. She had no idea why Major Crimes would be one of the last to move; their team was among the most popular in the whole of the Department. The FID portion of Internal Affairs was on the 'last to leave' list due purely to internal politics. Sharon could easily place a call to the State Attorney General's office and FID's move would be expedited accordingly. But she knew such actions would make life more difficult for her team. The delay didn't bother her, but the young officers in her unit faced enough rejection as it was.

The fact that there were so few people working in the building the past month had an unintended benefit – Sharon had the women's locker room almost to herself in the mornings before and after her daily run. Occasionally, Detectives Moore and/or Williams would pop in before the beginning of shift to change. The only female in Major Crimes was Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson. And Sharon doubted the woman knew the place even existed.

* * *

When Detective Moore's movements in the large room disturbed her one morning while she was cleaning up after a run, Sharon didn't think much of it – not at first. It was only when there were continued sounds of a locker opening and closing that she finished buttoning her blouse and circled around the echoing chamber to find Ally Moore, t-shirt clad and back to her, covered in bruises.

Chief Johnson's disdain for Sharon was no surprise when the two of them sat in Assistant Chief Pope's office later that morning. The fact that Sharon was both the head of the FID _and_ a methodical, by-the-book officer clashed with the unorthodox methods and shenanigans that typified Johnson. Which is likely why Sharon was still a Captain and Brenda Leigh, with her long, blonde tresses and proclivity for flirting, was a Deputy Chief.

Sharon had hoped the head of Major Crimes would set aside, if only briefly, her lack of respect for her as a person to deal with the serious situation as presented.

"I…I'm sorry, but who's in charge of this investigation?" Chief Johnson snapped.

"You are." Pope obliged. "Captain Raydor, I promise you that Chief Johnson will pursue this inquiry vigorously, but let's leave to her the when and where she will approach the husband [_sic_]…."

Although Sharon was used to lively debates with other division heads, particularly _this_ one, some part of her felt sucker punched by the inability of Chief Johnson to show any compassion whatsoever. Here a young female detective in an unpopular division was possibly being beaten up by her husband, and it appeared that the head of MCU was set on acting like an investigation into the matter was going to be a major imposition.

In that moment, Sharon wished she _had_ pushed to be in the new building already, where there were other females in positions of authority to draw from.

* * *

Chief Johnson's animosity towards the head of FID couldn't have been more overt, and Sharon was dismayed when this attitude resulted in shoddy work and, more importantly, the unnecessary, violent incident at Detective Moore's house. The fact that MCU's lackadaisical approach resulted in a cop shooting a civilian _and_ the hospitalization of one of her team members made Sharon all the more irritable. For the duration of the investigation, she ensured that Johnson and the MCU stayed on top of things.

Sharon was, therefore, surprised when Johnson rang her at her desk that Friday afternoon.

"Captain Raydor. Would you join me in the morgue? Thank _yew_." The phone clicked off before she could respond. With a sigh, Sharon closed the Officer Involved Shooting (OIS) report she was working through and locked her computer. The morgue was a good 20-minute drive at this time of day.

Surprisingly, Captain Raydor found Chief Johnson looking quite happy just outside one of the small exam rooms. Then, she saw the metallic wrapper and remains of a Ding-Dong in the Chief's hand. Unconsciously, Sharon licked her lips even as she mentally cursed the poor eating habits of the slender blonde.

"Chief Johnson." Her low, smooth voice barely made an echo against the tile walls. Sharon's eyes blinked behind her dark-framed glasses, awaiting further explanation for the call down to the morgue.

"Ah, Captain Raydor." Chief Johnson led her through the swinging double doors into the room, where Johnson tossed the now-empty wrapper into a garbage pail before pulling a manila folder out of her oversized tote.

"I was looking over the notes you sent regarding Shawn Moore's bullet wounds." Brenda folded over the front cover and handed the whole bit across the table. Both of them ignored the covered body between them.

Sharon took the packet, gave it a quick glance. Inside, the top page was a printout of the report she had written up Wednesday morning after her review of Shawn Moore's body and follow-up discussion with the medical examiner.

"Was there a problem?"

Brenda Leigh looked up at her and smiled tightly, her large mouth pressed closed. They stood there silently for a moment.

Finally, Brenda spoke, "I was thinking about the angle of entry. There's another folder there with the completed ballistics report."

Sharon's eyebrows shot up as she slid a second folder out from under the first and opened it. The fact that Chief Johnson had gotten the results first was less than amusing.

"Mmmm. This is interesting. Do you have the weapons?" Sharon continued to scan the form even as she heard the crinkle of plastic. When she finally looked up, her gaze went first to Shawn Moore's sheet covered body, then to the small black bag being held out to her by the Chief. As she took it, the gowned and gloved medical examiner slipped into the room. Sharon gave him a cursory nod and slid a Glock out of the bag. She removed the barrel with an ease born of years of practice. Replacing it slowly, Captain Raydor considered once more the ballistics report. Things were falling into place, and her stomach clenched at rising anger.

When Sharon glanced up, she saw the examiner holding Shawn Moore's right arm up, lifting the limb almost over his head. Brenda had slid the sheet back a little and was staring into the gaping hole not far from the corpse's armpit. When the blonde lifted her gaze, she stared intensely back at the head of FID. Sharon realized how beady those dark, brown eyes were as they bored into her.

"Well, then." Chief Johnson glanced away first, focusing on the large wall clock. "I suppose we should step out in the hall. The show is fixin' to begin." The Southern twang came through at odd moments.

Sharon slid the weapon she had been holding back into the black bag, studying the label, _Sgt Ryan Dunn_. Chief Johnson came over and reached into a cardboard box near Sharon's feet. She pulled out a clear zipper-topped baggie containing Detective Moore's weapon and dropped it into her black satchel before leading Sharon out into the hallway. As they awaited the arrival of the two involved officers, the head of FID continued to mentally recreate the shooting incident using this new information.

During Chief Johnson's 'show' with their suspects – Moore and Dunn – Sharon felt a certain excitement in having correctly deduced the events from the night of the shooting, even as she bit back disgust at having been 'played' by Detective Moore. She couldn't help but fall in time with the Chief – adding her observations about Sergeant Dunn and Detective Moore having clearly known each other beforehand, and Moore's timely revealing of her (staged) bruises. Then, she allowed Johnson to take the lead on the discussion about the weapon discrepancies.

Synchronously, Raydor and Johnson moved to the side table to act out the exchange of handgun barrels. The familiar click, lock, and snap provided the two senior-level officers a moment in which to relate to one another, going through well-memorized motions. Sharon felt a small amount of their mutual grudge crumble at the final clack as she and Johnson automatically slid (empty) cartridges into the butts of their weapons simultaneously; the effect was exhilarating. She could see similar joy in Johnson's face as the woman put the final nails into the case against Moore and Dunn.

Afterwards, when the two young officers had been led away by other members of the MCU, Sharon stood, loitering for no apparent reason, in the hallway.

"Captain Raydor. Did you drive over?"

"Mmm. Would you like a ride?"

"Oh, well, if you insist." Sharon turned her face away so that the Chief wouldn't see her rolling her eyes. As they walked out to the parking lot, Chief Johnson pulled two more Ding Dongs out of her tote, causing Sharon to wonder just how deep the bag was – and how many treats the woman was able to fit inside. She took the proffered sweet silently, dropping it into her purse as they climbed into her immaculate Mercedes convertible.

"The top retracts on this?"

"Yes, it does."

"Well, I suppose it must be nice to just hit a button and have it pop back up when it rains."

"It is more convenient then wrestling with a soft top. Plus, it's faster – which is helpful during torrential downpours of the monsoon season."

"True. Less risk of melting due to an unpredictable storm."

They shared a tight smile at Johnson's dig. The remainder of the trip back to the old Parker Center was silent. Sharon wasn't sure if it was just her, but there was something to the tension between them that she found…enjoyable? She pondered this as they pulled into the parking lot and watched Chief Johnson stride ahead of her into the building.

* * *

That evening, after Sharon had completed the OIS report, she sighed with relief. All 986 pages had been checked, double-checked, and submitted. She had done it well within the 72-hour limit, partially thanks to the work of MCU and Chief Johnson. A glance at the computer clock before she shut the machine down told her it was almost 7:30pm. With a sigh, she decided that she ought to stop by Johnson's office on her way out. If the woman was still there, she should pause to tell her about the discovery regarding motive.

Sharon made her way through the dimly lit MCU section, silently reminding herself that she was doing this out of professional courtesy. Yes. Of course. Courtesy. And, if the planets were properly aligned, perhaps they might find a way to be civil to one another. Or, at the very least, she hoped to discern what it was she had felt during the car ride back to the office earlier in the day. Feeling ebullient over arguing with a colleague (or superior, really) was surely wrong.

To suppress her anxiety as she entered the Chief's messy office, the Captain launched into the initial reason for her visit – outlining her discovery that the motive for Shawn Moore's murder had been a bad home loan. She sat down, took a carefully hidden calming breath, and prepared to offer a gesture of goodwill. Perhaps even a hint of an apology – but just a hint. She wasn't the one in the wrong, after all.

"I would also like to say –" She began.

Pause.

"– that I'm fully aware that at the beginning of this investigation, I was a total bitch." Sharon inwardly cringed as she completed the thought. _Why, oh why, did she continue to pick fights with this woman? _

Brenda Leigh Johnson's mouth spread into a wide smile, "I'd say it was more in the middle." She hesitated, visibly gauging Sharon's reaction. "And near the end."

The words caused the head of FID to harden her features, preventing any emotion from showing through. She was forced to remind Brenda that _she_ remembered how poorly the blonde had first handled the case. "But, I still believe that if you had talked to the husband earlier, that he might –"

Brenda cut her off, "– that he might still be alive. Yes, I've thought about that. And how I might have resisted talking to him, because –"

"Because I suggested it?" Sharon raised an eyebrow.

Brenda hesitated again before conceding, "It's possible." The blonde lifted a hand, turning the palm up in agreement with Sharon's assessment.

"But, um, I did want to say that I –" Breda continued, fingers drumming nervously on the desktop. This was followed by an awkward pause while she summoned up words that clearly pained her, " – that I do think it might be beneficial for the LAPD if we were to work –"

"Just do as I say," Sharon interjected.

"– a bit better together." Brenda Leigh finished her thought.

They both laughed, awkwardly, and Sharon was gratified the Deputy Chief captured her need be oppositional. The fact that Brenda had difficulty admitting that her own grudge against Sharon had colored her work signaled an insufficient trust between them. At least in theory.

They sat there, once more surrounded by an awkward silence – Brenda nervously swiping at the strands of hair over her eyes.

Sharon rolled her eyes and began again, "The thing is –," she searched for what to say, blew out a breath of frustration.

"– we just don't like each other," Brenda finished, smiling kindly.

"No. We don't. Oh, my goodness, no." They understood one another; neither would ever concede their point of view – on anything. They were alike, at least, in that. "And you know what? That is a very difficult dynamic to change."

Chief Johnson nodded, "It is."

"And it's very hard on everyone." They mirrored one another's relaxed smiles. "Okay. Well, good." Sharon realized she was rambling and rose from her seat, wanting to escape now that matters had been settled.

"Thank you, so much, for the, um, final report. Thank you." Brenda's voice, tremulous, caused her to turn back. Despite Captain Raydor's regimental style, both in dress and work, despite her inflexibility, and her brusque personality, she somehow found a way to communicate effectively with at least _one_ senior member of the force. Perhaps, in establishing a mutual combativeness, she had even found…an ally.

Sharon's voice retained its customarily calm, silky quality even as her hands flittered about her waist, giving away the glee bubbling within – Chief Johnson wanted to work at 'getting along' about as much as she did – which was not at all.

"Um, have a good night, Chief."

"Goodnight. Goodnight to you." Deputy Chief Johnson's words drifted after Sharon as she left.

* * *

After dinner that night, Sharon made slow, passionate love with her partner of seventeen years. Grace knew better than to query as to the cause for the long, languid buildup and the endless orgasms that shook through both of them. As Sharon's eyelids fluttered closed for the night, her bare breasts pressed against the slick skin beneath her, and a haze of sweat and sex circled the pair.

"I think I like Scarlet O'Hara."

"Mmm. What?" Sharon murmured, trying to pay attention even as her thoughts grew fuzzy.

"You know, Chief Johnson. Whenever you have run-ins with _Brenda Leigh_, we have the most amazing sex. I think I'll call in to the department tomorrow and recommend her for a promotion."

Sharon grinned, pressed her lips to the soft flesh at the base of Grace's neck. "It's a nice thought, but I don't know how much clout a private citizen would have in the matter. Besides, there are only two positions above her – Assistant Chief and Chief. And both are filled. Now, let's stop talking."

A warm chuckle rumbled beneath her cheek and then subsided into a slow, rhythmic hum. Sharon grinned as she too, nodded off, thoughts of the clashes she could have with LAPD Chief of Police Brenda Leigh Johnson floating through her dreams.


End file.
